Some say it’s not a good time to write, I say it’s the best. Writing when you’re pissed off is good! It’s good for the fucking soul at the very least. It helps you spew out all the toxic shit you either can’t say to that certain somebody’s face for a myriad of complicated reasons or, you did but it just wasn’t quite enough.
I’ve always been a do-it-yourself kind of person. Not to the extreme, at least I’d like to think so, but at least to the point that I know I can get by on my own if I had to. I’ve always loved learning and understanding how stuff worked—for the most part. I can handle the simple, everyday things and take pride in the fact that I do. I’m not a total control-freak whack job! Heck, if I can pay someone to do it better, faster, easier—and I can afford it, that’s great.
If I can help, I would. I do. However, in my many years, I still have a hard time understanding and accepting people who survive by having others do for them. I mean this with the stuff they’re supposed to do in the first place. Falling back on ignorance as if it was cute, calling on dependence as if it is endearing, it just drives me nuts. Maybe to a certain degree, you can count on the novelty of those things but when they wear off, what then? What kills me is that the people I see doing this aren’t idiots. At least not in the in the archaic medical sense: mentally handicapped. Usually, they’re just plain old lazy.
So, I’m pissed off because someone tried to pull that on me yet again. I like to help. I always delude myself that each time out, I’m helping someone learn to do for himself. But when the “helpee” gives me attitude then that’s it. Go do it your fucking self. I’m quite sure you know how. You don’t need me showing you a correct, better, or easier way. I don’t care. Just do it and get out. And thank you for using my supplies. Until the next time you lazy ingrate.